Signal Fire
by crescented
Summary: The circumstances that led to Addison being in the plane going to Boise and the subsequent events after. If Addison had never left Seattle, AU. Mark/Addison. Four-shot.
1. i

**Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's. If I had then all this would have been real. Or maybe not, because who would want a plane carrying the doctors to crash?**

 **Title is from the Snow Patrol song of the same name. This is my first Maddison fic, please be kind. Excuse any typographical or grammatical error I may have made.**

 **I love both them and Slexie, although if given a choice I'd still choose Maddison over anything any day. This fic is an attempt to give both Mark and Addison the happy ending they should have had with each other… because I never could stand the thought of them not ending up together. The story format is kind of weird – it basically shifts from past to present and vice versa but don't worry, you won't be confused because past events are all in italics. I'll explain the timeline at the end so you guys understand some things, because I changed a boatload of stuff. I apologize for the length, hopefully you won't get lazy reading it but I swear the ending is worth it. Gave it my best – this thing is literally my baby. LMAO. I decided to upload it in parts because it's way too damn long if I upload it in whole.**

 **I apologize for the long A/N. And also; I kind of tweaked the scene wherein Cristina finds out Mark has a cardiac tamponade.**

 **Enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think through a review!**

 **-i-**

"You're okay," she breathes against his dark-blonde wisps, "you're okay, Mark. _We're okay._ We're going to be fine. _We're okay_."

He doesn't reply. He instead shifts himself so he can see her better—he's barely moved an inch before he cries out in pain again. She winces at the sound and berates him slightly, telling him not to move as he risked reopening the cut Meredith had made to drain blood from his pericardium. She steadies him; setting his head against her lap and cradling him in her arms in an attempt to calm both him and herself down.

Mark grunts in pain repeatedly; she has to bite her lips each time he does so as to restrain herself from outright sobbing which would, no doubt, destroy the tranquility they had finally achieved after hours of panicked frenzy. She begins to cry silently instead, letting her tears fall in endless cascades against her alabaster skin. She quiets Mark when he begins to stir against her arms upon noticing her tear-stained face. Everything seemed so uncertain; so out of control—not one of them knew exactly when help was going to come, or if it was ever going to come. Jerry, the pilot, had told them that it'd take at least four hours to find them, but she wasn't even sure Mark had four more hours.

The thought Mark dying made her want to fall into pieces and spontaneously combust—she couldn't live without him. He can't die—not now; not when everything in her life had finally fallen into place.

She remembers with an atrabilious clarity waking up to his worried face; fear etched on his delicate features as he asked her: "Addison, are you okay?" over and over again. Dread overcame her even as she assured him repeatedly that _yes, she was fine_ and _no, she wasn't hurt._ How was it that just a few hours earlier everything was fine and the only thing they both were concerned about was whether or not they would have dinner the next night outside or at home, where they could order Chinese, watch a movie, and sleep in afterwards?

In the distance she could hear Meredith and Cristina shouting incoherently and someone she didn't recognize crying out in pain as Mark carefully helped her up. They were both seated at the back of the plane—it was the part that tore off; she was lucky she'd received only cuts and not something more. She hadn't known yet that Mark had received more than just cuts; that he had received a major underlying injury that would only manifest hours later when they least expected it—an injury that might kill him if he wasn't given proper medical care immediately.

 _If circumstances were different_ , she thinks, _much more different than this one_ , she supposes might have found Mark crushed under one of the plane parts or he would have found her crushed against said parts instead. The thought made her shiver, but really: not much comfort could be gained from the fact that neither of them had been crushed against anything because the possibility was high that Mark could die in the woods either way.

Mark led her to the plane crash's main site where they found Arizona, the source of the cries, leaning against one of the plane's engines. Arizona's leg was bleeding profusely; she had previously ripped off her pant leg to expose the wound—the femur had jutted out, Arizona was in shock and, judging by the way the leg looked, it needed to be operated on immediately or else it could end up getting amputated. She did all that could be done with what they had: she cleaned, bandaged, and splintered Arizona's leg as Mark stabilized the pilot's C-spine—though, unfortunately, the pilot was already paralyzed from the hip down and would never again gain function over the affected parts.

Meredith and Cristina found Derek, hand crushed and bleeding, a ways away from the main site and carried him back—though his hand was bandaged, Cristina had to sew the wound up using a safety pin in order to save the hand as she, Meredith, and Mark did their best to restrain him as he cried out in pain.

The commotion had died after that; with only Cristina making noise as she relentlessly bantered about the importance of finding sustenance if ever they weren't rescued soon. She and Mark had been sitting next to each other with her head on Mark's shoulder as she absentmindedly fiddled with the ring on her finger, wondering how lucky they were to have been spared the others' fate. She was quickly proven wrong, however, when she looked up to ask Mark whether or not he thought they were ever going to be rescued and saw his slack jaw and the deathly pallor his face sported.

"Mark?" she quickly called out. She retracted away from him; causing him to fall to ground, his back facing her— it was then that she screamed his name, catching the others' attention, "Mark!"

Cristina ran to their side immediately, followed by Meredith and surprisingly, Derek. Cristina turned Mark over, scanning his head, arms, hands, legs, and almost every part of his body to find a wound before ultimately ripping his scrub top off, exposing his chest. Mark's chest had a reddish-purple hue to it; in her mind she scrambled for possible internal injuries Mark might have sustained from the crash. Cristina quickly bent her head against Mark's face, listening to his breathing as she, immobilized by shock and panic, sobbed against Derek's chest.

"It's a cardiac tamponade," Cristina declared after listening to Mark's breathing. "I need an ultrasound to be completely sure but, if it _is_ a cardiac tamponade, we need to drain the fluid from his pericardial sac immediately to relieve the pressure."

"How?" she heard Derek ask, "We need an 18-gage needle. We don't have an 18-gage needle."

"No," she cried, withdrawing her face from Derek's chest, "you can't. _No_. What if you puncture the wrong part? _He'll die_."

"He'll die either way if we don't do this." Cristina argued.

"Addison—" Meredith started, but she cut her off.

"No!" she shouted, " _No_. There has to be some other way."

She bawled; her body wracked with sobs as the harsh reality set within her. "You can't," she managed to stutter out, "There has to be – there has to be some other way. I can't let—"

" _Addie_ ," Derek said forcefully, holding her at arm's length using his good hand, " _Addison_. Calm down. This is the only thing we can do to ensure Mark lives through this. Think of Mark. Think of your _baby_ , Addison. Your baby needs a father."

She selfishly hadn't been thinking about the baby. Her baby, _their_ baby— _her and Mark's baby_. The baby that had been growing inside her for 21 weeks; the child that was half her and half Mark—the miracle child. If Mark died, she'd end up raising their child all by herself – their child would never know who Mark was. She couldn't imagine a world like that. This was Mark's only chance – she knew that.

"If you puncture the wrong part _my baby won't have a father_ , Derek." she countered.

"We need to do this now or he dies," Cristina said, "His heart won't handle the pressure if we don't drain the fluid soon."

"Can we use this?" Meredith then asked, holding up a clear, long, plastic tube she'd found while rummaging the first-aid kit they'd brought along with them.

"Addison, please," Derek pleaded, "chances are we puncture the wrong part, chances are we don't. If we don't, Mark lives. He gets to see another day and your baby _will_ have a father. We're running out of time. We need to drain the fluid _now_."

"Do it," she decided after taking a long, lasting look at her husband who was clearly in an incredible amount of pain. Derek was right. Mark needed to live. " _Please_."

"Hold him down," Cristina ordered, "If he moves while we do it we might risk rupturing something else."

She and Derek had held Mark down while Cristina guided Meredith as she carefully inserted the tube into Mark's chest. Her vision blurred from the tears; edges became softer and the world seemed as if it were different splashes of moving color. She was able to distinguish the blood—Mark's blood—as it squirted out of the tube, however.

"We did it," Meredith said afterwards, her tone a tone of disbelief and amazement. "We didn't puncture anything. We drained the blood. Mark is fine—he's going to be fine, Addison. We did it."

"Thank you," she replied through her tears, "thank you."

" _Red?_ " Mark weakly calls out, snapping her out of her reverie—she hadn't noticed she was already bent over and was crying all over Mark's hair.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, "don't move, Mark. Stay still."

"Don't cry." Mark berates her, "I'm not going anywhere, Addie. I'm right here. You need to calm yourself down; stress isn't good for the baby."

"I know, but—I love you, Mark. So much." she whispers against his ear; so quiet that no one could hear despite the quiet that surrounded them, "I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you."

"I love you too, Red." answers Mark, "You'll never lose me. You know that."

"It's just—" she breathes, "—I thought I was going to. Almost, Mark. Almost."

"I meant it when I promised you I wouldn't leave," Mark reminds her, "and I won't. I don't plan on going anywhere, Addison. Now stop crying and stop stressing yourself out; you're stressing Emma, too."

"You don't know if it's a girl, Mark," she tells him. It _was_ a girl—she had known the moment she set her eyes on the ultrasound they had done last week during her 20-week check-up. Mark knew that she knew, of course, because she had told him that she couldn't resist peeking just once—but he had still insisted that she not tell him. "It could be a boy. You could be wrong."

"I'm always right. I know it's a girl." He looks at her with his classic grin and she finds herself grinning, too. Mark always knew how to make her smile—even now, even when he was the one who needed cheering up. "You're a bad liar, Red. You give yourself too much credit."

"No, I don't!" she laughs.

She brushes through his locks with her fingers while keeping a hand on her belly—she feels the flutters again; taking note of the fact that she may full well finally feel it kicking from the outside sooner rather than later. The flutters had increased in frequency the past few days; on her last check-up the doctor had told her that yes, she should expect to feel the baby finally kick soon—not that she hadn't known already. It felt different to be on the other side of things – she was the patient now and not the doctor.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't die."

"I promise."

 **-ii-**

" _Have a fellow or another attending go instead," Mark tells her for the nth time, trailing her as she made her way to a patient's room who was scheduled for a hysterectomy. "You're five months pregnant, Addison. Pregnant women aren't supposed to go on planes. Pregnant women aren't supposed to be performing surgeries that require them standing almost the whole day."_

" _I'm the best in the field, Mark," she answers, using the same line she used on him last time. "You know that. Don't use the pregnant card on me, it isn't going to work. You're going, too—tell me: do you not want to spend the day with your wife?"_

" _Not when she's 21 weeks pregnant and needs to slow down," Mark counters. "Addie, you know I'm only doing this because I love you and I care about you and our child."_

 _She abruptly stops just in front of her patient's door, and turns around to face her husband. "I know that. I'll take breaks every three hours so I don't tire myself out. I love you, too—" "—but I'm still performing the surgery with you and the others in Boise."_

 **-iii-**

Mark codes the first time a few hours later; the sun had since set and the fire from the last of their matches had been quickly blown away by the wind. It was cold; so cold that she was shivering despite the thick jacket she had on her that bore the names _Addison Sloan_ and _Seattle Grace-Mercy West Hospital_. She tried to shield Mark from the freezing temperature the best she could, wrapping his jacket around him and everything else she could find that could help retain heat to no avail—he was trembling just as much as she was.

It takes her awhile to notice that his chest no longer bobbed up and down against her hand. She starts calling out his name repeatedly at once, hoping that she might be wrong and was only imagining things—but when he doesn't answer or react at all she screams. Cristina is quick to come, but Meredith still lay sleeping next to Derek as if nothing was happening. She didn't blame Meredith—she herself was just as tired as the resident was.

She seemed rooted to the spot; seemingly unable to move or act as Cristina took control of the entire situation. All she could do was watch as Cristina Yang resuscitated her husband through CPR. She was a doctor; a _surgeon_ —she should have known better. She should have started chest compressions as soon as she noticed—and she would have, if it had been any other person but this was _Mark_. Now her husband was going to die because she couldn't get it together and perform CPR on him as soon as she could.

Mark's eyes jolt awake and he takes a deep breath just as Cristina breathes a sigh of relief.

She doesn't notice the tears streaming down her face until a hand—Mark's hand—brushes them off. She looks up and sees him looking at her in worry; as if she had been the one who needed to be resuscitated just moments ago.

"Stop it." "I'm alive, Ad. Stop the waterworks." He rasps.

"Don't you ever do that again," she reprimands him as if he could control what she had just asked of him.

If he died… she doesn't want to think about what'll happen to her. She knows it isn't going to be good. She might go crazy; she might just… die, too—she knew she was being selfish what with a child, _their_ child, on the way but she couldn't help but think of all the things that might happen to her if Mark died.

She loved him too much. That was a fact. And if she lost him, she might as well have lost herself.

 **-iv-**

" _You're pregnant, Addison. Says here you are."_

" _No, I'm not." she counters. "For the last time, I_ can't _get pregnant. Take my blood again."_

" _I'm not going to._ You're pregnant. _Either you believe it or you don't, but the test isn't wrong."_

" _Alex_ — _I'm serious. I can't get pregnant. It's impossible."_

" _Not so impossible now." "You've always wanted a baby, now you've got one._ With your husband _. He's your husband now, not your husband's best friend. Don't tell me you're going to abort another one of his babies."_

" _I'm not. It's just_ — _if it_ is _true, it's a miracle."_

" _It's true. You've got yourself a miracle."_

" _I'm pregnant."_

" _You're pregnant. Now stop it and teach me like the good attending you're supposed to be._ My favorite attending _."_

" _Stop patronizing me, Karev."_

" _Come on_ — _back to saving babies. You can talk about it with Callie and Arizona and Teddy or something after."_

 _Finding a place that sold Yankees onesies in Seattle proved to be almost impossible_ — _until she, Arizona, Callie, and Teddy finally stumbled upon a small thrift shop near the edge of the city that had just the one she wanted. They went to the bar afterwards, where she bid farewell to the ladies after one glass of ginger ale. It was a good thing the apartment she shared with Mark was near Joe's and she could easily walk the short distance needed to get to it._

 _Mark wasn't home when she arrived_ — _his shift had ended ten minutes ago; she supposed he stayed in a little while to check in on his patients before leaving. Her heart pounded like a drum inside her chest as she nervously waited for him to come home_ — _she didn't know how he would take to the news. He wanted Sloan's baby; he wanted to be a father to it and felt sad when Sloan gave the baby away instead_ — _she knew he was a changed man and wanted to be a father more than anything. He would be thrilled, no doubt, but still: the thought of telling him terrified her to her wits' end._

 _She stands the moment she hears the doorknob turn and the door itself open. She holds the Yankees onesie and calendar tightly in hand, afraid that she might accidentally drop it due to nervousness_ — _she wanted to tell him now; to drop the bomb and be done with it but when she opens her mouth to say it she finds herself unable to._

" _Hey, babe." Mark walks towards her and gives her a kiss—he hadn't noticed what she had in hand yet. "What did the doctor say? Was it the flu? I was right, wasn't I?"_

 _She was 6 weeks pregnant as stated on the test, which means the baby might have been conceived during the steamy shower sex they had had after the long, grueling day at work. There was no chance of her ever getting pregnant, which was why they never used protection. The baby was a miracle – though they both wanted children, Mark was more than willing to give the chance of being a father up for her even when she had told him many times that she was barren and couldn't ever give him children._

" _It isn't the flu, Mark." He was now scouring the fridge for food but unfortunately, she hadn't had the chance to get groceries yet which meant that the fridge had almost nothing in it – just a few fruits and vegetables and leftovers from the other night._

" _What do you mean it 'isn't the flu,' Ad?" He turns around, worry etched on his face as he continues, "Are you sick? Is it cancer? Tell me, Addison. What do you_ — _"_

 _He sees what she has in hand, and it finally registers within him. "You're pregnant."_

" _I'm pregnant." she says with a smile on her face; the biggest one she'd ever given him._

 _He embraces her tightly; she feels small within his arms as he lifts her up and spins her around as they laugh loudly. She felt as if she were in cloud nine: everything in her life had finally fallen into place and finding out she was pregnant felt like the cherry on top of everything. "You're pregnant, Addison. We're going to have a baby. Can you believe it?"_

" _I know. I couldn't either," she tells him, "I was going to have Alex run another test to make sure but he wouldn't. It's a miracle."_

" _Our special miracle," he replied, gently laying a hand atop her lower abdomen. "I love you, Addison Montgomery-Sloan. You've made me the happiest man in the world. I can't thank you enough."_


	2. ii

**-v-**

On their second night in the woods she jolts awake with a scream; the pain on her lower abdomen unbearable. As always, Cristina is the first to go, followed by Meredith—she vaguely wonders whether Cristina has had the chance to sleep just like the rest of them. She clutches her belly; curling up against the blanket of leaves atop the cold, hard ground. Tears spring in her eyes as she tries to speak to instruct the both of them what to do, but the only thing that comes out of her mouth when she opens it is a cry. Next to her she feels Mark try and move; to find out what was wrong with her but, like her, pain immobilizes him before he has the chance to do so.

"Addison," Cristina rasps, "Addison. What's wrong?"

She feels Cristina shuffle around her; she then feels the resident's hands on her body, quickly searching for wounds she may have missed just like she had Mark's. When she doesn't find anything she removes her hands and says, "Meredith, I don't know what to do. _You_ —you've been on OB/GYN enough to know something. Do something, Meredith!"

"She's in pain, she's having contractions," Meredith states as if it weren't obvious enough, "I need to check if she's dilated, or if she's bleeding."

"Addison, I need to check if you're dilated," says Meredith, "Cristina, hold her steady."

She feels them shuffling around her again; she feels Mark trying to sit up to see what he could do—she so badly wanted to tell him not to but couldn't due to the extreme pain from the cramping in her stomach. Grunts and cries were the only thing that came out of her mouth as she desperately tried to cope with the pain.

"Mark, calm down!" she hears Cristina shout; "We're going to check her and find out what's wrong. Don't move or you'll open the damn cut! Stop fussing, you're wasting time that we should be spending taking care of your wife and finding out what the hell is wrong with both her and your baby."

She feels hands on her again as they turn her so that she is on her back instead of on her side. A sharp pang of pain erupts from within her again; she tries to curl up but finds that she can't anymore. Hands pry her legs apart gently and within the span of a minute she feels something probing inside her. How ironic it was that it was _Meredith_ , her ex-husband's new wife, probing inside her lady parts. She had taught Meredith some things during her time in OB/GYN, after Derek had kicked her from neuro and no other surgeon would take her under their wing. She hopes the resident had retained some of the things she taught her.

"She isn't dilated. Thank God," she hears Meredith say, "she isn't bleeding, either."

"The contractions will stop on their own. I have absolutely no idea what caused it, but she should get some rest."

"Calm down, Addison. Calm down so the contractions will stop."

She wasn't bleeding and she wasn't dilated—she silently thanked the gods. The contractions were probably caused by stress, she notes. The pain caused by the contractions was ebbing away, and the contractions themselves seemed to be getting weaker as the minutes went by. She hears Cristina assure Mark that both she and the baby were fine. She then hears Mark breathe a sigh of relief—muttering an "okay" that finally sent Meredith and Cristina away.

She closes her eyes briefly and upon opening them she finds the sky a soft pastel blue—their 3rd day. She shifts herself so that she is on her side and facing Mark—he was awake, and was looking at her.

"Don't ever do that again," he tells her, "I mean it, Addie."

"The baby's fine," she replies, cradling her stomach, "the contractions were probably caused by stress. You were right, I'm sorry."

"Damn right I am." "You could have lost her, Addison, and we couldn't've done anything about it because we're in _here_."

"I know, I know." she replies. "I'm sorry. It'll never happen again."

The rest of the day passes by peacefully; Meredith and Cristina collect water from the spring again and she cleans Arizona's wound, trying her damnedest to remove the bugs that had again found their way there. It is only at night that another commotion happens again; one that concerned Mark: he had coded again. His fourth time in three days—he got weaker each time Cristina revived him. She finds it miraculous how the resident manages to revive her husband time and time again; and she is grateful for it more and more every time she sees his chest bob up and down and see him smiling at her despite his condition..

"You can't die, Mark." "Emma needs you. I need you. You need to survive this. You can't die on us. Please, baby."

"Addie," he manages to stammer out, "If it happens… promise me you'll love her enough for the both of us."

"No," she breathes, "no. Don't say that. I love you, Mark. You promised me. _You promised_."

"Please, Addison." he replies, " _Please_. Take her to Yankees games for me. Let her play sports so she won't be as girly. Cancel surgeries for her; always go to ballet recitals, piano recitals, soccer games, or whatever you have her do that requires your presence. Always make time— _always_. Make her your priority rather than surgery. Love her more than anything else in the world. Love her more than you love me, Ad."

"I can't do this without you, Mark."

"You can, Addison." "You're strong. You're the strongest person I've ever met. You can do this, and you're going to be great at it. I promise. Now promise me."

"Mark…"

"Addison."

"I promise."

 **-vi-**

A flash of bright, white light. Being lifted up gently and placed onto something softer; so much softer than the cold, hard ground she'd lain on for the past… she didn't know how long anymore. A stethoscope against her chest. A sharp, stinging pain on her left hand, followed by the feeling of something starting to flow in her bloodstream – fluids for dehydration and nutrition, she supposed. Hands lifting her scrub top up halfway – she is too tired to protest. Something cold is placed on her belly and she jerks and almost falls off the gurney. A strong heartbeat—her baby's. The sound of the paramedic sighing in relief.

Her hands find her stomach and she cradles it just as she musters the strength to ask, "Where am I? My baby, is she—is she alright?"

"Ma'am, you're okay. Your baby is okay. You're on a helicopter on the way to Boise Memorial."

She quickly remembers Mark, her heart racing as the thought of him once again surfaced her mind. "Where's my husband?" "He was one of the doctors… he was sleeping next to me. We drained fluid from his heart. Where is he?"

It takes a while for the paramedic to answer. "Where is he?" she asked again, panic laced in her voice. "Tell me. I'm a doctor. A surgeon. You can tell me. Please, I need to know."

She tries to sit up, only to be restrained by the paramedic himself. She notices Cristina lying on the gurney next to hers, her face void of any expression and her eyes blank, as if she were thinking of something but at the same time wasn't. It scares her—she had never seen Cristina like that; she seemed damaged, almost scarred from had happened but really: all of them were. She doesn't think she'll ever be on an airborne vehicle ever again after _this_.

"Ma'am—Dr. Montgomery-Sloan, please—"

"Tell me where my husband is. _Please_ ," she begs.

"Dr. Sloan and Dr. Robbins are already in Boise being treated for their injuries." the paramedic tells her.

"Is he dead?" she asked as tears sprung to her eyes once more. "Near-dead?"

"No," the paramedic answered, "He isn't."

She feels relief flood her mind, albeit temporarily. Panic replaces relief when she realizes all the things that could happen while they were being transported to the hospital in none other than a helicopter—a helicopter that could just as easily crash like the plane they were on.

"Sedate me," she told him, " _please_. I can't—I can't be awake. I can't be awake when this one crashes too."

She tries sitting up again and reaching for the syringes placed on the walls, but the paramedic along with the other paramedic on the helicopter restrain her again. They catch on her IV and accidentally rip it off, sending blood everywhere. Her mind was in circles; she couldn't think properly—she knew what she was doing couldn't possibly be good for the baby but she couldn't stand being awake knowing all the possibilities; all the things that could happen as they made their way to Boise Memorial.

"Dr. Sloan, please. Calm down!"

"Sedate me," " _sedate me_."

"Ma'am—"

" _Both hers and the baby's heart rate are increasing rapidly, we need to calm her down_. _Baby's vitals are lowering. Her blood pressure is soaring,_ " she hears the other paramedic say. "She might start contracting. We have no other choice."

"Sedate me!" She tries to get out of the gurney but the paramedics are more than prepared. They restrain her once more and strap her to the gurney. She struggles against her restraints but stops a minute later when she starts to feel droopy—and in her mind she thanks the paramedics for finally sedating her.

She falls into a deep, deep sleep and, when she wakes, she finds that she no longer was in the woods or the plane but rather the hospital, on a bed inside a hospital room with no other than Alex Karev sitting by her bedside.

"Hey." he says with a smile, "There's my favorite attending."

 **-vii-**

" _Sloan gave the baby away." "She could have given it to me instead."_

" _I know," she answers, "I'm sorry, Mark. Sloan… she must have had her reasons."_

" _Do you ever think about…" he trails off, not knowing how to ask her without bringing the pain back for the both of them._

" _The baby? Of course I do. Every day."_

" _Why?" he asks her, looking at her with years of repressed hurt in his eyes. "I know I've asked before, but:_ why _?"_

" _You weren't ready yet, Mark._ I _wasn't ready yet. You fucked the nurse in peds; I still loved Derek. I couldn't bring a baby into a world where her mother loved another man and her father constantly fucked women who weren't her mother. I_ couldn't _, Mark. I didn't abort the baby because of revenge; I aborted it because it was for the best. We weren't ready for a long time, even if we did survive the 60-day pact. I had sex with Karev, you had sex with some nurse in the oncology department." she pauses for a moment, closing her eyes, "When I found out I couldn't have children I thought that maybe, just_ maybe _, it was punishment for aborting our child. She would have been three by now, you know. I think about her all the time… I like to think it would have been a girl."_

" _We could have made it work, Addison. You didn't give me a chance."_

" _We couldn't have, Mark. You know that as much as I do." "I'm sorry, Mark. I_ — _it just wasn't the right time."_

" _Addison…"_

" _Mark, please. I regret having done that to our child. I always have, and I_ — _I hate talking about it. I'm sorry I didn't_ — _I'm sorry."_

" _Addison, I love you."_

" _What?" she turns and looks at him, and she sees in his eyes the look he's always given her; the look that hasn't changed since the moment they met – the look of love and pure adoration._

" _I love you."_

" _You're supposed to be mad at me," she replies, "you're supposed to be mad at me, Mark. You're hurt; you're delusional and emotional; you're supposed to be mad because I killed our baby without ever even giving you a chance. I aborted the baby so I could go after Derek to save our marriage but there wasn't even a marriage to save. You can be mad at me, Mark._ Be _mad at me."_

" _I was going to ask you to raise Sloan's baby with me."_

" _Mark_ — _"_

" _I love you, Addie. I always have and I always will. Lexie… I never loved her as much as I love you. I still love you. I want to be with you_ — _I can't stand the thought of you being with someone other than me. I'm not delusional, Ad. I can't ever be mad at you. Sloan made me realize not to let you get away again and I don't want to waste another chance at us. I love you, Addison."_

 _His hand finds hers; he clasps them together and she lets him do so without as much as a protest. "_ It's you, Ad. It's always been you. _"_

" _Give me another chance. You don't have to tell me now, but_ — _please. Think about it. I'll wait as long as you need me to. You're worth it, Addison."_

 _When she finds she's out of words she kisses him instead and, for the first time in what seemed to be a year she feels right: like kissing Mark here, on a bench in the middle of the hospital parking lot on the very same day his daughter gave away the baby he thought he was going to have_ —was right _._

 _He always loved her more than Derek did_ — _his was a different kind of love; his love for her was pure and it transcended his love for anything else in the world… she knew that. They've both had their fair share of mistakes, with him sleeping with other women and her aborting his child_ but _, she finally realizes, maybe this time love would be enough to make the both of them stay because she has always loved him, too. It just took too long for her to make sense of it._

 _She does give him a chance and he proves himself to her time and time again that, at some point, she begins to think that she doesn't deserve to have him in her life. She doesn't regret giving him a chance, this time, when she finds herself exactly a year later standing in front of a minister in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but her pajamas as he wed them_ — _she realizes how much she's changed; how much Mark has changed her to have convinced her to get married wearing only her pajamas at her own wedding with only Callie, Teddy, and Arizona in attendance._

 _She doesn't regret giving him a chance when, almost a year later, she finds out that she's pregnant despite knowing how impossible it was for her to be_ — _and she begins to think that this was how things were so supposed to be; with her and Mark and their unborn child._ This _was how things were supposed to be._

 **-viii-**

"Mark?" "Mark, honey, are you awake?"

"Ad-Addison," he manages to rasp out, prompting her to grasp his hand tightly against hers.

"I'm right here, Mark." she answers, her eyes beginning to glass over the longer she looked at him. "I'm right here."

He grunts, opening his eyes—her heart stops at the sight of his ocean blue orbs. She wasn't there the first time he woke up and when Alex wheeled her into Mark's room despite Richard's protests—he argued that she needed rest; she told him she couldn't without seeing Mark—he was asleep. She waited by his bedside diligently, staying mum as nurses and residents dropped by in waves to check on his vitals.

"Am I dreaming? Is it really you, Red? I'm not dead, am I?" he asks.

"It's me, Mark." "You're not dreaming… I'm here."

"You're okay?" he inquires when he sees her clad in the white, paisley-patterned hospital gown of Boise Memorial. It should have been the other way around—with her asking him how he was and if he was okay but, as always, he put her first before himself. "The baby?"

"We're fine," she assures him, "Richard and Miranda demanded they run all sorts of tests just to make sure. We're both fine."

They knew how much the baby meant to her and Mark. Richard, especially: he'd been adamant that Addison stay in bed to get some more rest instead of going to Mark's room but in the end, he had no choice but to let her go. He had always been somewhat of a father figure to her—after all, he did mentor her and Derek in New York during their residencies.

She had no idea what she would have done if she had lost both the baby and Mark. Her life now revolved around the two of them—Mark, her husband whom she loved dearly and Emma, her baby girl, her miracle who wasn't even born yet but whom she loved just as much as her husband; maybe even more. She couldn't live without either of them. She knew Bizzy would be laughing at her right now if she saw what had become of her daughter—a heap of crying mess—but she couldn't quite get herself to care.

He grips her hand tightly, this time, and she realizes again just how close she was to losing him. Her eyes start to brim with tears—again, she notes bitterly (when had she been such a crybaby?)—Mark wipes them away and affectionately rubs her cheek. She stands, a hand on her belly, and silently heaves herself onto Mark's bed, minding all the wires connected to him and the IV on his hand. Carefully she lays her head against Mark's clavicle and intertwines her arm against his; she feels him breathe her in as he says, "You scared me in there, Ad. You and Emma."

"God, Mark. Think about yourself, you just went through surgery and all the crap in the woods. I—I almost lost _you_ ; _you_ coded four times in the woods, Mark, not including the one while they were transporting you here. The first time you coded I couldn't even get it together. I was so close to losing you forever… you even made me promise things I should do for Emma if you weren't there to raise her with me and it broke me, Mark. I can't lose you."

"I had them sedate me in the helicopter. I was so tired, and I just—I asked if you were dead, and when they said you weren't I told them to sedate me but when they told me they couldn't, I almost lost it. They did end up sedating me and when I woke up, in my room in a hospital bed with Alex at my bedside, I was so scared because what if you died while I was asleep?"

"Alex had to calm me down because I kept crying and he promised me he'd take me to you, even if the doctors forbade him to do so and even if Richard told me I needed rest because _I needed to know_ if you were fine with my own eyes. They ran all the tests on me before they let me off the hook. And when I saw you, sleeping but alive I thanked the gods because I knew I would have completely lost it if you died."

"You'll never lose me, Addison." Mark says, " _Never_. I meant every word I said in the woods; every promise I had you make."

"Emma…" she whispers, "When I woke up, she was kicking up a storm. It was the first time I'd ever felt her moving and kicking; it felt almost surreal, to feel your baby kicking for yourself, to be on the other side of things – it made me stop, for a short while, before the crying episode. And afterwards I felt so guilty because it was the _first_ time, Mark, and I barely even acknowledged it because I was so, so terrified at the thought of you dying."

"I'm not going to die, Ad. You don't have to be afraid because it isn't going to happen. Emma… she must've known you were upset. Already the light of her parents' lives and she hasn't even been born yet. Have you felt her since then?"

As if on cue, she feels her baby move within her; she doesn't answer but merely takes Mark's IV-less hand and places it against her lower abdomen, where the baby was kicking wildly. She lets Mark's hand stay there, placing hers on top as she looks at him with a smile on her face—it felt different, almost as if she hadn't smiled in ages when it had only been a week… a week that changed their entire lives.

"God, babe. I love her so much, and I love you. We're going to have a baby girl in a few months. Can you believe it?"

"I know," she answers, "feeling her move around makes it all feel so real. I never thought I'd get pregnant again after… New York, but I did and she's going to be here soon. I can't wait to hold her, Mark. I don't think I've ever loved someone this much asides from you."

"We're going to be okay, Ad." Mark promises with an unwavering hope in his voice, "It's going to be me, you and Emma. I'm going to get out of here soon, and everything's going to go back to normal. Just like before."

"We're going to be okay," she repeats after him, not sure whether she should believe him just yet or not.

Little had she known that it was the first of many battles to be fought.

* * *

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	3. iii

**Thank you so much for all the support! I appreciate each and every one of you :)**

* * *

 **-ix-**

" _You would've been a great father, Mark," she whispers suddenly, making Mark look at her with a confused look on his face, "I—I'm sorry it's taken me this long to realize. You would've been a great father."_

 _Tonight was one of those opportune nights that they both didn't have shifts down the hospital, which technically meant that they had the night to theirselves. Those kind of nights increased in frequency as her pregnancy progressed, because Mark had insisted that she take it slow and, being the ever-supportive husband he was he had told Owen to make it so they were on shift the same time—so he could keep an eye on her._

 _They both felt like staying at home as they both were tired from their long, grueling day at work. Which was how they ended up here—in the tub in their bedroom's bathroom, taking a bath together. She was leaning against his muscular frame, her hands gripping the tub's sides as he held her with his hands on either of her hips. They'd been quiet for the most part, enjoying each others' company in silence. She actually loved moments like this—it was peaceful; serene._

 _She doesn't know what made her say those words all of a sudden. Maybe because she had thought of their daughter, their_ other _daughter, who would have been five by now if she hadn't had the abortion. Mark doesn't say anything in reply, and she continues._

" _If I hadn't had the abortion she would have been five by now," she states._

" _We weren't ready yet, Ad," Mark replies after a short while, "you said it yourself. And I—I wasn't ready yet. I was scared shitless. I slept with Charlene. I would have messed the kid up."_

" _Maybe we should have given it a chance." she shifts a little, and Mark's hands move from her hips to her lower abdomen. "Maybe we could have been ready by the time she was born. You would've been a great father. I just know it. Emma hasn't even been born yet but you're… you love her, Mark, you love her so much and you're probably going to be a better parent than I am. I love her—I do. So much. But I don't think I'm going to be a great parent."_

" _Come on, Ad. You're probably going to be the World's Greatest Parent—and I'll probably mess her up big time if you're not there to raise her with me."_

" _I'm scared," she whispered, taking one of Mark's hands, sliding it over the swell of her belly, and laying her hand atop it. "Bizzy was a bad mother. What if I become just like her?"_

" _You won't," Mark answers, "trust me on this one, Ad. You won't. You love her too much. You're probably going to spoil her just as much as I will."_

 _Mark rubs circles on her stomach with his thumb. "When do you think we'll feel her?" he asks._

" _Soon," she says, "I feel her moving inside me often, but subtly. I'm 21 weeks along, so we should be able to feel her move and kick from the outside soon enough."_

" _You know," Mark starts, "I still don't think you should be on that plane. Have another attending or fellow go instead—or a resident, whoever you want to pick. I do want to spend the day with you, Ad, but I don't think you should be on your feet for hours—you're pregnant, you need rest. Think about it, babe."_

" _I'll take rests; I won't tire myself out. I promise," she replies. "I'm the best, Mark. Those babies need my help."_

" _I know, Red. I'm just worried."_

" _Come on, Mark. I can take care of myself, and I will. And it's not like the plane is going to crash or something. You have nothing to be worried about."_

 **-x-**

She feels them staring at her again.. If there's one thing she hates, it's the stares—the looks of pity; of sadness because they felt bad for her—she hated being pitied. It happened when she and Derek got divorced; and even way before that when everyone found out that Derek and Meredith were having sex together behind her back. Now it was Mark—apparently, everyone was aware of Mark's current condition. They knew he was deteriorating; that his body could no longer take the stress of surgery and he was slowly rejecting the medication he was taking. His doctors were waiting for him to get a little bit better so that they could operate; but from what gossip she's heard, people were doubtful he'd ever recover enough for surgery.

 _Poor Addison. She's pregnant, and her husband's probably going to die and leave her to raise a child all on her own. Poor Addison, left all alone. Poor Addison. She doesn't deserve all this. Her child's probably going to grow up fatherless._

If only she could shut them all up, she would. She rounds the corner to Mark's room, where he lay sleeping—it's all he does anymore. She tries to ignore the nurses, the residents, the _whispers_. Derek is with him; his mouth moving but voice inaudible as she stands outside the glass doors to Mark's room. She wonders what Derek was saying—people visited her husband all the time; and talked to him even though he slumbered and probably didn't hear what exactly they were saying. During rare occasions Mark was actually awake everyone seemed to be there. Mark enjoyed the attention and tried to talk and listen as much as he could in his condition.

She feels Emma move inside her; thrashing around and kicking in every place her little feet could, making her wince. She soothes her baby, rubbing her stomach affectionately as she stood immobile in front of her husband's room, observing her ex-husband talking to her now-husband.

"Addison?" someone asks from beside her and she turns to see Richard Webber, her old mentor, standing next to her looking at the same view.

"Yes? Did you need anything?" she asks softly, hoping that he did indeed have something work-related to talk to her about rather than her husband. Richard has been watching her closely lately, she supposes he doesn't think she knows when, in fact, she did.

"Are you alright, Addison?" he asks her, and inwardly she sighs. "You can always talk to me if you need to."

"I'm fine, Richard." she answers. "Just tired is all."

"Have you been able to talk to Mark?"

"He woke up for a short while yesterday, luckily when I wasn't in surgery. He seemed fine but worn-out. He mostly asked about the baby."

"Good to know." "Callie and I—and Bailey, too—think he's going to be fine soon. Well enough for surgery."

"I've heard the gossip. Do you really believe that or are you just saying that to make me feel better?" She felt bad for snapping at him—she knew he had only good intentions but she just couldn't keep it together.

"I meant it, Addison. We meant it. His vitals have gone up and he's been doing significantly better than when he was first brought here. We have no reason to believe he isn't getting better." "All I'm saying is that if you need us, we're here. For you and Mark."

"I know." she replies. "Thank you, Richard."

She enters his room just as Derek exits it; he offers her the slightest of smiles which she returns. He and Meredith have struggled with the aftermath of the crash just as much as her and Mark. She knows, just like everyone else in the hospital, that he can't operate anymore—not in the condition his hand was in. And though she hasn't been married to him for years (five, not that she's counting) she knows that it must be killing him: surgery was the one thing that he loved most in the world, asides from his now-wife Meredith and their child, Zola, and to not be able to operate must feel like a death sentence hanging over him every day, following him around. Callie had operated on his hand, in his firm belief that she was the one who could bring back full function in his hand but even Callie couldn't—much to Derek's dismay.

She sits on the chair beside his bed and grasps his hand tightly against hers. He looked so peaceful; so unperturbed that only the bobbing of his chest and the ups and downs of the lines displayed on the machines connected to him indicated that he was, in fact, still alive.

"I love you," she whispers, "I need you to be okay, Mark. For you and me both, and for Emma. She needs you. I need you."

She takes a quick look outside, relieved that no one was there watching. There always seemed to be someone watching over Mark; whether it was Derek, Callie—even though she had Arizona to watch over, Alex, Richard, Jackson Avery, and sometimes, Lexie Grey. Lexie Grey was supposed to be in the plane going to Boise but she had taken the young resident's spot instead—Lexie must've been relieved, because if she had been in the plane who knew what would have happened to her?

"You can fight this," She caresses his cheek with a hand. "I'm here; everyone's here. I—you can't die. You have to fight it. I can't raise her alone."

"You have to live so you can take her to Yankees games and spoil her rotten and be there when I can't. She'll probably love you more than me, Mark, but I don't care. You have to be there to take her to soccer practices and watch while she kicks the boys' asses. I'm probably not going to be a great mother, but I'm sure you're going to be an extraordinary father. So you _have_ to live. Not for me, but for her. She's going to need you, and you _need_ to be there. For her."

She knows he can't hear her but the words spill out of her mouth anyway.

"I'll always love you."

She's in the middle of a C-section; elbow deep in a woman's uterus when they page her 911 to Mark's room. Her heart seemed to have stopped and her mind seemed to have shut down when she thought of the sole, plausible reason why they paged her in the middle of surgery. It takes her a whole minute to compose herself, prompting the resident to ask her if she was fine and if she needed him to take over and do the procedure himself instead. She declines, however, because if a complication arose that led to the death of either the mother or the baby she would be the one responsible. She does let the resident close the mother up after she hands the baby off the pediatrics fellow waiting.

She makes her way to her husband's room as quickly as she can, bounding through the labyrinthine hallways of the surgical floor until she finally arrives at his quarters – an audience composed of Richard, Jackson Avery, Alex Karev, Lexie Grey (surprisingly) and some of the interns and residents was present outside, which confused her greatly. If there was an emergency then why were they standing outside and not helping?

"What happened?" she quickly asks in worry, stopping at the threshold of Mark's room. "Mark?"

Mark is there looking more alive than she'd seen him in months. The deathly pallor his face had held for the longest time was gone – this was the healthiest she had seen him in forever. _It scared her_. She should be happy; joyful just like Derek and Callie were, cracking jokes by her husband's bedside but instead, Mark's sudden convalescence scared her.

She knew about this. She just didn't want to believe it.

"There she is," Mark grins, and Derek and Callie laugh. "What took you so long, Red?"

"I was doing an emergency C-section," she explained, beaming at him. "I could've come sooner, but…"

"You're here now," Callie says, a big smile on her face, "Mark has been waiting forever for you."

"I'm sorry, honey," She sits on her husband's bedside and starts treading her fingers through his hair. "but _you_ almost gave me a heart attack. I was in the middle of surgery when you paged. I thought something had happened to you."

"Something did happen," he replies, "I woke up feeling alive as ever. Sorry, babe. Couldn't wait to see you."

Eventually Derek and Callie are paged, Derek for a consult down in the pit and Callie for emergency surgery in OR 2. She slips away just as Jackson enters the room; she hears him trail off the phrase: "… don't think it's the surge."

"This is it, isn't it?" she asks Richard, who hasn't moved an inch since earlier.

"Addie…"

"Tell me, Richard. This is it, isn't it?"

"When a terminally ill patient is—" he starts, but she cuts him off. She knew well what he was going to say.

"—I know what the damn surge is!" "Tell me, Richard, is this it?"

He remains silent for a moment, and she almost shouts at him again before he finally opens his mouth to speak. "I'm sorry, Addison. There's no way to know for sure."

It takes all of her willpower not to cry right there, in front of Richard and in front of everybody else. She takes a deep breath and turns around to look at Mark. She watches him as he and Jackson Avery talked—Mark, surprisingly, had developed an affinity to the resident—now fellow—and would affectionately call the both of them the 'plastics posse,' something Mark was very proud of.

She quietly slips inside the room again, this time with Richard in tow.

"If you love someone, tell them. Even if you're scared it's not the right thing. Even if you're scared that it'll cause problems—even if you're scared it will burn your life to the ground, you say it, and you say it out loud and you go from there."

"That's what I did with Addison; that's what you'll do with your lady. Now go tell that woman you told me about earlier that her breasts are beautiful as is and save lives after."

"I haven't been paged yet. I can still stay—" Jackson says, but Mark intervenes.

"Go save lives; you're a doctor, _that's_ what you'll do."

Jackson leaves and just as he does Mark starts heaving and coughing, causing alarm to both her and Richard. "I'm okay," he tells them through a fit of coughs which stop a few moments later.

"Mark…" Richard begins.

"I'm fine." Mark answers.

"Addison, don't you have laboring mothers in OB?" her husband asks.

She knew what he was trying to do. Mark wasn't stupid— _he knew_. He knew _this_ was it, hence the speech to Jackson Avery she'd overheard and the cracking of jokes to Callie and Derek in order to ease their worry. He thinks she can't handle it, and he's right—she can't. The old Addison could, she supposed, but the Addison she was now couldn't. They were going to have a child; they were married—they had a _life_ together now.

A life together… they had that now. And she wasn't going to let it slip away from her fingertips that easily.

"You can say whatever you want to say to Richard in front of me." she replies.

"What?" he replies incredulously, "What are you talking about, Ad?"

"Mark," Richard begins, "she's right. She's your wife. She has a right to know everything you tell me."

Mark's grin slips off his face. He is silent for a while before he finally says, "Is this what I think it is?"

She feels as if she can't breathe.

"There's no way to know for sure," Richard quietly answers.

"Okay," Mark breathes, "okay."

Her heart physically hurt from the extent of the emotional pain she was feeling. She blinks the tears away when they threaten to come—she needed to be strong; if not for herself then for Mark. Mark needed her right now. He was there when she needed him and now that he needed her she had to be there.

All of a sudden her pager beeps, and for a moment she considers having Alex or one of the residents take over for her just so she could stay with Mark. She goes, anyway, because she knows it's her duty and she knows that if something were to happen to her patient it was all on her. She leaves even if she doesn't want to; even if she wanted to stay with Mark because this may very well be the last time she'll ever see him awake… or alive, for that matter.

She gives him a long, lingering kiss—never mind that Richard was just there—and says, "I love you, Mark. So much. I love you."

She wants those words to be the last she'll ever tell him, if ever she comes back and he wasn't there anymore.

"I love you too, Ad," he replies, forgoing any sardonic remark, "you and Emma."

She grasps his hand tightly for a second; looking straight into the eyes she hoped her daughter would have too. She loved him. She couldn't lose him. She turns around for what may be the last time, and as she turns the corner to the elevator she sees Richard take a seat beside Mark's bed and look at him solemnly before beginning to speak.

One of her patients had gone into labor while she was with Mark—Alex had opted not to tell her because he knew where she was and didn't want to disturb her. She scolded him briefly even though secretly, she was thankful for it. There was something wrong with said patient's baby; it was in distress and needed to be delivered immediately. They rushed the mother to the OR to perform an emergency C, which took about an hour as she had to control some of the bleeding. She left Alex to close, and told him to page her when the mother had woken up regardless of where she was.

She navigates through the hallways leading to Mark's room, each step reverberating in her ear. Her heart pounded with good enough reason. She's barely stepped onto the hallway that contained her husband's room when she hears the commotion. Nurses ran to and fro; she could hear someone bark orders in an endless flurry.

"We have a pulse," she hears a voice—a voice she knew as Richard's—declare.

She hurries along the corridor the fastest she could despite her condition. She stops just at the threshold of her husband's room, seeing Richard with a look of despair on his face. She looked at Mark's vitals—steady, but low. Her heart was aching; everything was aching as she looked at Mark.

"What happened?" she asks.

"He coded, Addie," Richard answers quietly. "We—he told me not to call you."

"We talked about his medical preferences." her old mentor then says, "He told me he couldn't possibly leave you to decide for him. I-I'm sorry, Addison."

"Okay," she then breathes, walking towards the foot of Mark's bed. "okay."

Richard leaves quietly. She hears him close the door and berate the building audience outside her husband's room. She stands still for a long time, simply staring at her husband who looked so serene in his sleep. He had so many wires connected to him his form—not as muscular as it used to be—was dwarfed by them all. He had lost so much weight; his body couldn't keep up with the sickness anymore.

This was the life they've known since the plane crash. She always thought he'd survive this; that they'd survive this, but she was wrong. She walks toward his bedside, feeling more faint with each step that she took. They had a child; a _family_. Why would fate, destiny—or some supreme being, if one existed—do this to her?

"Mark," she whispers brokenly, " _Mark_."

She climbs onto his bed and lies down next to him, tears falling from her eyes as she wrapped an arm tightly around his chest. Emma moved wildly inside her, and for the first time she wishes her daughter would stop. _Stop kicking, sweetheart, because it's breaking Mommy's heart each time you do_. _Daddy's asleep, Mommy doesn't know if he'll ever wake up._

Mark's chest still bobbed up and down; one would say he was still alive but he wasn't her Mark. Not anymore. Not if he doesn't wake up.

She sobs loudly; her chest shook as she tried to wrap her head around the harsh reality of life. _This can't be real_ , she thinks, _maybe this is just a dream._

 _This isn't real. It can't be._

* * *

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	4. iv

**-xi-**

He sleeps peacefully next to her; unmoving, unperturbed, tranquil. He was a complete contradiction of what she was now—chest shaking, tears falling, heart aching. Only the cacophonous sound of machines could be heard aside from the occasional snuffle and gasped breathing that would erupt from within her. She held onto him tightly, and though her muscles and basically every part of her body hurt from being in the same position for hours she wasn't planning on leaving his side. She doesn't think she'll ever leave his side.

Seventeen hours, fifty-two minutes. That's how long Mark has been asleep—that's how long she's been here. That's how long it's been since she lost him. A part of her still held onto the hope that he'll wake, however impossible it may seem. He had to wake up. He had to be better—not for her, but for their daughter. If he died she doesn't think she'll ever be okay.

The relentless yet incomprehensible chatter of the people outside drift into Mark's room. She knew an audience was present outside; twice the usual amount of people watching the inside of her husband's room. There was no doubt that the whole hospital already knew. Many had come and go; Callie had come, Alex had come, Richard, Jackson Avery, and even Meredith Grey, of all people, had come. They all said the same thing: that Mark wouldn't have wanted her to be like this. That Mark would have wanted her to take care of herself and their child.

 _What if I have her and just die?_

She dismissed the thought as soon as it came, a fresh batch of tears falling onto Mark's hospital gown. She suppresses the instinctual urge to wrap her arms around her burgeoning belly. _Mommy didn't mean that, sweetheart. Mommy's never going to leave you._ Emma was her miracle; _their_ miracle. She was never going to let her miracle go. Her daughter was the only thing she had left of Mark. She loved Emma—she loved her more than anything else in the world; and Mark did, too.

 _Promise me you'll love her enough for the both of us._

She will. She'll try. But she knows she can never give Emma even half of the love Mark had for their daughter. Mark loved too much—and she loved that about him. Mark loved her more than anything else in the world despite her having hurt him more times one could count on both hands. She didn't deserve to be loved like that and yet Mark was always there. She was the love of Mark's life and he was hers.

She'll wait for him forever if she could. Mark told Richard to pull the plug after thirty days. She'll wait more than that if she has to. Mark waited for her—he waited and waited and waited and, despite all the hurt she put him through still, he waited. That was how much he loved her. He was always stupidly willing to do anything for her.

She doesn't know how she'll live without Mark. She doesn't know how she'll move on or if she'll ever move on. She doesn't know. Her life was filled with uncertainty; she doesn't know if she'll survive. All she knows is that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Someone enters the room. She hears the pitter patter of feet and soon after a voice says, "Addie?"

She recognizes the voice as Derek's, her ex-husband. She doesn't tilt her head or do anything to acknowledge his presence. She does, however, tense up when he lightly lays a hand on her arm. She was tired—so tired. She hasn't slept for fear that someone might move her; take her away from Mark while she slumbered. The endless crying sapped up all of her energy; coupled with the fact that she hasn't had anything to eat yet.

"It's been almost a day, Ad." Derek starts gently. "You haven't eaten anything. You need to _eat_ , Addison, you're pregnant. Mark… he wouldn't have wanted this. You need to take care of yourself and your child."

When she doesn't reply, Derek speaks again with an even gentler voice. "Addie—"

She cuts him off. "Don't call me that." she hisses. "He called me that all the time and he's gone, and—don't call me that."

As if on cue the tears resurface yet again and fall onto her cheeks in cascades.

"He wouldn't have wanted this to happen, Addison." Derek replies.

"Leave." she says with a steeliness in her voice she never knew she still possessed despite her tired state.

She's in Derek's arms, a minute later, and it barely registers within her before she starts struggling against his hold. She knows it must be straining him more than usual because of his hand and her added weight—she wasn't exactly light, what with a 29-week old baby growing inside of her.

"No," she cries, "Derek, please. Don't—I can't-I can't leave him. _Please_ , Derek."

Derek turns, obscuring her view. "I'm sorry, Addison." he says.

"Derek, I need to stay. I need to stay with him. I can't— _please_. Don't do this, Derek. Don't do this." she sobs. She can barely breathe. She can barely think. Her heart hurt; everything hurt.

"I can't leave him." she croaks, but Derek continues his pursuit outside Mark's room. Time slowed. She sees that only Richard and Alex were left outside. She doesn't know where they'll take her—an on-call room, perhaps. Or maybe somewhere they can get her and her baby checked. Her blood pressure was soaring. That, coupled with having had nothing to eat and having had no sleep could exacerbate the already dire effects high blood pressure could cause.

Derek makes his way through the vast corridors of the ICU. Richard and Alex trail close by, their faces one of sorrow and pity. "Take me back to him, Derek. _Please_." she begs, but Derek acts as if he hasn't heard a thing. Derek lays her down on a gurney inside one of the ICU's unoccupied rooms with difficulty. She beats her fists against his chest repeatedly and begs him to take her back to Mark's room. She hears Richard bark orders and sees Alex wheel in an ultrasound machine.

"Calm her down," Alex forcefully tells Derek. "I need to check if the baby's fine."

Derek sits down beside her and wraps his arms around her tightly, effectively restraining her. "I can't be in here, Derek, please. I don't—I'm fine. I'm fine. Please. I need to be with Mark."

"Calm down, Addison." Derek whispers against her ear, "ssh. Think of the baby."

Alex lifts her scrub top up, exposing her belly. He quickly squirts cold gel that makes her flinch for a split second. "I need to be with him, Derek—I need to—"

"It's okay, Addison. It's okay." The sound of her baby's heartbeat fills the room. It was slow, she notes, but it was still on the normal side of things. She stops struggling against Derek's arms and lays still, taking slight comfort in the fact that her baby was fine and that there was nothing wrong with it. It was a careless and selfish act, staying with Mark and forgetting to fulfill her basic needs—it wasn't just her anymore. Another life depended solely on her.

"Fetal heartbeat is normal—slow, but normal." Alex declares. "We need to lower her blood pressure down. She's risking pre-eclampsia."

Doctors and nurses enter the room as soon as Alex finishes his sentence. Derek doesn't leave her side but she sees him, Alex, and Richard look at each other knowingly and nod. Richard and Alex whisper to each other; Richard then whispers something to the OB/GYN attending in the room. Nurses stick needles against her skin and hook her up to an IV.

"Derek," she breathes.

"It's fine, Addison. They're just administering fluids. You're fine."

She sees them whispering again. The OB/GYN says something to the resident—she strains but doesn't hear. "Derek, I need to—" she says weakly, "—I need to go be with Mark. You have… surgery, and I need to be with him. _Please_."

Derek loosens his grip on her, and she finds she doesn't have the strength to struggle against him again. They must have sedated her. She feels her heart start to slow and her eyes start to droop. She thinks just how strange it must have all looked—Derek was her ex-husband. Eleven years, they spent together, eleven years he brought comfort to her during the hardest of times. His presence didn't bring comfort to her anymore; no one's did. No one except Mark's. But she doesn't think he'll ever wake up.

Everything fades away a while later, she goes limp and the velvet darkness consumes her whole.

"… _she's exhausted. It was a miracle she didn't start contracting. She hasn't had anything to eat, she's dehydrated and she hasn't had sleep for more than 24 hours. She's 7 months pregnant. She should be resting."_

The noise pounds against her ears. She stirs, and immediately she feels a hand close lightly on her wrist. The voices stop. She opens her eyes slowly. She sees sunlight seeping into her room through the window blinds—she notes that this is a different room, . She sees both Richard and Alex quietly watching her.

"Hey." Alex says. "You were out for a while."

"Mark," she rasps, "I need to see—"

"No." Alex cuts her off. "You need to rest. No visiting anyone. You're staying here another night for observation."

"Alex—" she starts, but Alex cuts her off again.

"Rest."

She pleads multiple times, only wanting to see and be with Mark but they all decline. They take turns watching over her—when Alex left, Richard was there, when Richard left there was Callie, and before Callie left Derek was there but Callie left, too, then Derek, but Alex came back and she was left with him. There was always someone watching over her, making sure that she was okay. She spent half the time asleep, contrary to how opposed she was at the idea of resting at first. It wasn't just her anymore. She had a human being growing inside her, depending on her to take utmost care while it grew within her. It wasn't just her—she had her daughter to think about.

She wasn't in any way sick, she wasn't contracting and her baby was perfectly fine—she knows she should have been cleared to go home as soon as she woke up. She supposed it was her friends' idea to pull strings, to make her stay for a little while longer to watch over her. They were worried about her. She knew that.

She asks Alex again if she could see Mark; she practically begs him to take her to her husband's room—she even tells him that he can be there to watch over her. To her surprise, he gives in and agrees.

He wheels her there, stopping at the threshold of her husband's room at her behest. She stands carefully, her legs shaking a little at first due to having not been used for more than a day but Alex quickly supports her, carrying her IV bag while having a hand on her arm as she padded towards the chair next to her husband's bed.

"I won't take long," she says quietly, looking solemnly at her husband and trying to make sense of it all—was he really gone? Wasn't it just a few days ago that he'd been so alive?

"I'll leave." Alex replies, momentarily flashing her a look of pity. "Take as long as you need. I'll be outside."

He leaves with the wheelchair. She stays mum and unmoving, only looking at the state Mark was in and observing all the machines connected to him. Emma does somersaults inside her, and she takes a deep breath as she rubs her abdomen gently. Slowly, she extends a hand and lays it against Mark's cheek and lets it stay there. It takes her a long time, but she manages to say something to him. _Anything_.

"Mark," she breathes.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I love you. I'm sorry we didn't have more time. I'm sorry you'll never get to see our child. I love you. I always will."

"I love you," she repeats, "I love you. I don't think I ever said it to you that much, but you said to me all the time. I should have stayed with you in New York—maybe then we'd have more time. You'd still be alive. We wouldn't have been on that plane. I should have kept the baby and divorced Derek and married you. I'm sorry for everything, Mark. I'm sorry I hurt you; I'm sorry I aborted our baby. I love you. I-I'll never love anyone as much as I love you."

"It's okay," she whispers, closing her eyes, "it's okay, Mark. You go. We'll be fine."

She takes another breath and stands. She takes her IV from where it hung and step by step makes her way out Mark's room. Each step felt as if she were being stabbed in the heart.

"Red?"

She barely hears it, but it's enough to make her stop and turn. She'll recognize that voice anywhere. She never thought she'd hear it again.

Mark had half his eyes open; he was blinking repeatedly in an attempt for them to adjust more quickly to the room's brightness. Her heart seemed to have stopped inside her chest—she doesn't know if she's dreaming; if she's making everything up but she hoped in vain that she wasn't, that this was all real. She all but runs to his side.

"Mark?"

"Ad-Addie?" he rasps. She held his hand tightly against hers. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

"You're awake, Mark," she replies. "You're awake. God—you're awake. I thought you were gone. You're awake."

Mark was breathing, talking, moving. He flashes her a look of worry and confusion, and if only she could tell him what had happened the past few days in its entirety she would.

Mark was alive.

 _Alive_. The world wasn't so cruel, after all.

 **-xii-**

" _Mark always loved you," Lexie Grey blurts out suddenly, prompting her to raise her eyebrow, "even when we were together. There was always something different; something holding him back."_

 _She looks at the preemie's vital signs, noting the changes from yesterday and marveling at how much the baby had improved in such a short amount of time before returning to look at Lexie Grey, Meredith's younger sister and coincidentally, Mark's ex-girlfriend. The resident was in her service today, something she knew the preschooler didn't particularly like._

" _I-I'm sorry, Dr. Montgomery, I just—I don't get it."_

" _Don't get_ what _, Dr. Grey?" she asked the resident. She was thankful that there were no nurses and doctors around to hear their conversation._

" _You aborted his baby. You broke up with him; you hurt him so many times but he still loves you. He still loves you. And I-I don't know why."_

" _You left him, Dr. Grey, because you couldn't handle his pregnant teenage daughter. You left him when he needed you the most. We hurt each other. We hurt each other but, despite everything, we've always been there for one another. Mark and I will always love each other; we've got way too much history. It was inevitable."_

" _But if you had stayed with him, he would have learned to love you. Even more than he loves me." It was a scary thought, but it was true. Lexie wouldn't hurt Mark; she wouldn't abort his baby, break up with him and hurt him over and over again. Mark would have loved Lexie. But somehow, the fates had made it so they still ended up together despite all the hurt; despite all the damage they'd done to one another._

 _She leaves Lexie Grey to ponder on what she had told her; whether the resident had taken it to heart or not she didn't bother knowing._

 **-xiii-**

He goes home three weeks later, miraculously having been deemed healthy by all of his doctors. They fall into a steady routine, with him doing physical therapy every Tuesdays and Thursdays each week and her performing surgery, still, carefully going about the hospital as her due date loomed closer with each passing day. It is hard, at first—the plane crash hit them harder than they thought in many ways possible—but they manage. Mark was alive and doing fine; the worst was over and that was enough.

She's still scared she'll lose him. She's still scared that he'll somehow succumb to something the doctors hadn't detected and suddenly die—she's scared of many things. She's scared she'll lose her baby; she's scared something might happen and either she'll die, or her baby will. She has nightmares about it all the time; ever since Mark came home. The underlying fear and worry about the uncertainty of life plagues her daily. She knows Mark is worried about her, but she doesn't want to concern him about it—he's still dealing with the aftermath of the crash himself.

They start meeting with lawyers regarding the lawsuit against the hospital. They win, and everything is fine until they find out that due to a loophole the insurance company found, the hospital will be paying them instead—causing it to go bankrupt.

The board members start to search for companies willing to buy Seattle Grace – Mercy West. They succeed, and after a while she finds herself subjected to the new regulations, which include the use of certain surgical techniques to lessen surgery time and increase productivity, which will thereby save money, budget-cuts in each department which saw the loss of both nurses and doctors in OB/GYN, and the closure of the ER, which sends her in outrage.

When she, Mark, Arizona, Callie, Meredith, Cristina, and Derek find that they don't quite like the new (or soon-to-be) administration's rules, they resign. They devise plans on how to prevent the administration from taking over, each pitching far-off ideas that surely wouldn't work until finally, the idea comes to them: they buy the hospital with the money from the lawsuit.

The money, it turns out, still wasn't enough. They bring in Richard, who adds a few million to the equation and a plethora of knowledge about how to run a hospital. She and Mark meet constantly with the other doctors—they meet at a daily basis as they scramble to find money to buy the hospital before time ran out.

She loses herself amongst it all; her grief reminiscent of the time Mark was in the hospital coming back as she remembers just how careless and inconsiderate she'd been, just how she'd treated herself as if she hadn't a child growing inside her. Guilt crashes into her, still, even as she works with the others to try and find a solution to their problem.

Her resolve finally crumbles one night, when she and Mark get home from another meet night at Meredith and Derek's place.

"I'll go brush my teeth." Mark says casually, and she all but collapses into their bed, sitting at the edge and cradling her stomach with her bare arms.

By the time Mark comes back, her head is hung low, her cheeks wet with tears; her vision blurred by them. Mark's fingers raise her chin gently, and when he finds that she's crying, his face crumples, and he sighs.

"I'm sorry," she croaks. Mark masks his face with that of curiosity, and dismay.

"When you—when I thought you were going to die," she starts, "it was awful, Mark, I—I was awful. I almost lost her. I didn't think about her at all; it was—I was—I was selfish. I can't stop thinking about it, and I haven't told anyone, and—I'm going to be an awful mother."

"When I thought you were going to die, I thought, _what if I have her and just die, too?_ " she whispers. Mark sinks down to his knees in between her thighs and gently lays his head against her stomach. "I was so selfish. Stupid. But I took it back, because, because I—I loved her. I love her, Mark. I can't lose her. I can't lose her. But for me to even think... what if I'm not a good enough mother, Mark?"

"Hey," he replies, looking at her, "it's fine. It's over. I'm alive, and you're alive, and our daughter is alive. She's right here. You're not going to be a good mother, Ad, you're going to be a _great_ mother."

He takes her hands in his and continues.

"We're fine, Addison. I'm not leaving, I'm not dying, I'm here. I'm here, Ad. We're okay. You don't ever have to worry about me leaving again."

* * *

 **I apologize for not having updated in such a long time! Only one chapter left; I'll have it up really, really soon.**

 **Please don't forget to _review_ afterwards! I appreciate each and every one of them!**


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